When I Need A Pick Me Up, by my friend Ryan King

Friday, September 28, 2007

Here Comes Your Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown

Okay, not really, but what is your definition of "middle-aged"? Isn't it halfway between birth and death? If so, then no one knows when they're middle-aged because no one really knows when they're going to die. But if you take conservative estimates, 43 is middle-aged. And I'd much rather not be that, thank you very much.

Yet, in a little over a week, I very much will be that. Like it or lump it.


What goals should I set before I turn 45?

Because really. I'm not dead. So what I'm not living in a penthouse overlooking midtown with my beautiful wife and children? I am living in NYC, overlooking a beautiful wall of trees. Soon as I get my car paid off, I'll be collecting money again. Which will make me more attractive for the Right One...


I don't feel like it. And not in any doomed, depressed, o-woe-is-me way. But in a middle-aged widow's way. I mourn the passing of the Right One, and I just don't feel interested in trying to do it all over again. Only, in this case, my Right One never existed. But I feel like I've already done all the work about relationship. I've fought, I've loved, I've learned, I've grown. The only thing I didn't get out of it are children. (Or a court-order to pay child-support and alimony).

So what's the fuss? I'll enjoy your children. Your poleclimbers who are eager to teach Daddy how to do the same. Your nervous criers who need some tough Daddy love and a lollipop on the way back to school. Keep telling me those stories. Those are lullabies for someone like me. I promise, I do smile, and I feel very warmly a part of the human race when you share those with me.

But why do I not want to become a full-time participant?

Well, let's see. I still sting from the last time I trusted someone (and this was not too long ago either. I mean within the last few months). The pain is not worth the good times. The pain SUCKS. It makes me furious. Fresh, bright sparkly motes of blazing-hot want-to-kick-somebody's-ASS furious.

Because when I was in my shell, I was f^cking HAPPY. I wasn't causing any harm to anyone and I was happy. But YOU had to come along and pressure me. You had to pry your f^cking blade into the seam of the shell and pry and pry and PRY until you exposed all the sensitive parts. And you got me to trust you, and even depend on you to take care of what you exposed.

And then what did you do?

You got me all wrong. You accused me of being someone I'm totally not, and you did it just to serve yourself. You worked to make me vulnerable, layed me out for display, then kicked it all over into the sand because you wanted your own way.

I was FINE before you.

I NEVER needed you.

And now it hurts just to think of your name.


Readers, I don't even know who I'm writing about. There isn't anyone who honestly fits this description. Whatever I've gone through in the last few months could not possibly have earned this kind of anger. Well, not completely.

So I must assume that what I'm feeling is from transference. This fury inside is an old one. It's older than the internet.

It is, of course, unresolved anger that I bear for my mother. Textbook case. Unresolved blappity bloop. I'm a damn stereotype.

Hate that.

Suffice it to say, my shell was the thing that protected me from ... stuff. If you wanted me out of it, then you should have






If you didn't want to take that responsibility--then I invite you heartily to LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE now.

Okay, back to your regularly scheduled drama ...

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

My Night Job

Two nights ago at B&N, I felt so casual and comfortable that one of the store managers had to ask me in hushed tones to button my shirt because I didn't appear professional.

And I confess. I was strutting my stuff. I was feeling mature, secure and masculine. I love my night job. The same way I loved working at Starb's in the city. I love the atmosphere and the cast of characters. What's funny is the fact that there's a new book published that my day boss told me about, which was discussed on one of our New York public radio stations. Starbucks didn't exactly save my life, but it is a massive stress reliever, if that makes any sense.

At any rate, I want to introduce you to the cast of characters at my night job.

My Supervisor, "Attention Deficit Annie" She's a dynamic woman who finds it hard to communicate with me without speaking at hypersonic speeds, and at that about two inches away from my face. She's the closest I've ever gotten to considering being inappropriate with, but she gets SO CLOSE, and she talks about SUCH NOTHING, that I ALWAYS wonder what would happen if I ducked in real quick and snatched a kiss to see what her tongue-stud tasted like.

"Undercover Emo" Tall lad who doesn't like to admit to any feelings at all, and would like for all of us to believe that he's got it all under control. One day he'll strangle a customer.

"Snapper" WAY too eager to please and cannot stay still to save his own life. If we ever got held up at gunpoint, his head would get blown off just because he'd make the robber WAY too nervous. I gave him this nickname because of what he CONTINUALLY does if he doesn't shove his hands in his pockets. No lie. I threatened him the other night with mittens.

"Gentle Giant" Consummate worker with a nice smile and serious closing-the-cafe-quickly skills. Needless to say, he's my favorite.

"Drama Queen" WHY did I tell this white girl that I once knew another white girl who pulled off the Ebonic term "Up in here" successfully? Because now DQ wants my approval of her every attempt. And it's not working. See, there are white people like Justin Timberlake, and there are white people like Steve Carell. I'm just saying.

"Vacuous" The less said the better. She just is. Bless her heart.

"Jabberjaw" She's mostly harmless too.

Customers (these are the customers who show up every day during my shift, and sit for hours. I said EVERY. DAY. For HOURS.)

"Won't-Go-Away Girl" She's adopted me into her family. God help me. It took about a week before I got well and truly sick of her face. I like to invite my own friends into my own life. The ones who impose will be sorely disappointed. I'm just saying.

"Carmine Macchiato" This is a strapping forty-something hero of a man who has a bashful, awkward approach to life, and two years ago, ordered Caramel Macchiatos exclusively. Tanned Italian that he is, he was dating a woman of color, but last week when he came in, he both ordered a different drink, and was without a date. I wanted to give him a big ol' hug.

"Little Tea Guy" He orders two ice teas, both large, every single time. Every. Time. But he himself is little. I suspect kidney trouble, ala Gary Coleman.

"The Profane Evangelist" This guy would hold a conversation with the stone lions at the NY Public Library. But just tonight I realized why he talks so much to so many strangers. He is evangelizing. No, really. The Bible. Tonite I overheard him tell one hapless, docile victim--"The Big Bang? It's bullsh!t!" Then proceeded to browbeat the lamb into admitting that God made everything, starting with light.

"Too-Many-Words Woman" She can't just order what she wants. She's got to second guess the damn things into the ground and ressurect them back up again. "Do you have non caffinated tea? What kind is it? Oh I don't know if I like that kind. Is it sweet? Well, I can sweeten in myself can't I? How much is that? Is that with tax? I don't know--I like coffee. Do you make non-caffeinated coffee? Oh of course you do. Okay, I'll have the tea. Is it decaffeinated?" Actually, this is a gestalt customer. She comes in about a dozen varieties. And usually when there are 27 people on line behind her.

"Monosyllabic Man" He wants a tall cup of coffee. Always.

"Mr. & Mrs. Korean Clippings" Every night they come, order a drink, then spread out their two shopping bags full of Asian newspapers across two tables, and clip coupons and articles and whatever the hell else until 10:55. We close at 11:00. I have no idea.

"Asian Nation" Our B&N is situated behind a sizable Korean church. The kids are dropped off at B&N. I don't know where the parents go, but I'm crediting them with church attendance. Which leaves the kids to sit with their SAT study guides and drink Frappaccinos and drink Tazo teas until the sugar finally transforms them into giggling, hyperactive alien hybrids from Alpha Centauri. They make me wonder--child cruelty? Is it worth losing your childhood to have a financially superior adulthood? Because when I tell you every night...I mean every night they are there. An assorted microcosm of Asian youth (and by Asian, I mean Korean), numbering about twenty to thirty of them, studying exams or textbooks, or flirting with the boys, or cellphoning, iPodding, or Sidekicking. If they're our future, then our future is going to be manga.

I will update as I recall more of them ...

Saturday, September 22, 2007


When I lived in Trenton, I worked out in the same gym where the following guy did;
I knew his name was Remy, but that's about it. Pretty cool that he's made it to the cover of THE premiere muscle mag, and was staring back at me as I browsed my Barnes & Nobles comicbooks on my break last week.

In that same gym, this following guy, at the same time, worked out there too;

That's Ty Treadway. I've posted about that experience at the old blog. Both Ty and Remy, at different times, exchanged that "What's up, dude" head nod with me on at least one occasion -- each.

I'll be signing autographs between 2 and 7 pm at the B&N on Lincoln Center. '.'

Meanwhile, good looking men, right? Go on and admit it. ;-))

Friday, September 21, 2007

My Day Job

I don't go into a lot of detail about my career because, as though I were in the CIA-- I deal with people and the nature of my work is confidential. But today I've got enough anxiety about what must be done to blog about it.

First of all, I've been WOEFULLY negligent in my day duties for the past month or so. I've been outright addicted to the internet, trying to deal with the production of the latest installment of my hobby. I don't want to go into detail, but while I was volleying comments about sexuality herein (nothing like sex talk to blow up the comment count! :-D ), I was also ironing out some details about the hobby and discovering some discouraging viewpoints and reviews about me as a person elsewhere. This would be another reason why it was so awesome that Coaster Punchman stepped in here to assist my process with words of honesty and e-mails of support. While one aspect of life was sliding down to a gloomy place, a decades-old inner conflict was getting resolution. That discourse was far more than just what I needed. It was survival.

Thanks again all.

But during that, it was like the anxiety was driving me away from my responsibilities at my day job. It was as if I couldn't focus on anything academic. The only thing I could successfully do was engage my clients in therapy. When I could focus on them, I effectively disappeared. All my issues and self-questions were gone. But when I came back to my computer and the need to do paperwork, I hit the Internet Explorer button instead of the Word button. The night job was also extremely useful too. It gave me something to do physically, instead of whittling away the evenings in endless loops of self-doubt, self-loathing, self-flagellation, or just plain old fury. And there's still nothing quite like the gratification of handing off a well-made drink and watching the customer do that orgasmic moan of pleasure. I'm usually one breath away from crooning, "Yeah, baby--you like that?"

So that was my past month-plus. Now this week, I have a client who's last surviving parent has died. And we have to tell that client today. After much deliberation for the past few days, the client's sibling gave us permission. Remember, our clients are developmentally disabled. Old school definition; "Retarded."

But this specific client is a basket case about 25 weeks out of the year, in three-to-four week cycles. Screaming, crying, defiant--for no discernable reason. This client gets a notion to do nothing for weeks at a time, and you just go with it, or wear earplugs as the screams echo throughout the mountains of New Jersey. I kid you not.

So of course, during a nice 4-week run of smiles, laughs and cooperation with all the activities we provide--the client's last surviving parent ups and dies.

Goodbye client's good mood.

T-minus 1.5 hours and counting until blast-off to Screamersville. And if you hear sonic-pitched wailing emanating from the northeastern point of New Jersey, we're not killing anyone. It's just the way our client mourns death.

And mourns.

And mourns.

And mourns.

Envy me, people.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Notes from The Coaster Punchman

Coaster Punchman, you've given me a lot of excellent information in comments below so I wanted to consolidate it here;

Coaster Punchman has left a new comment on your post "Finally, A Pic I Can Live With":

Hi again Alan,
Wow, I've been reading through these comments and this is quite a discussion. I'll have to check out your blog more to see if there is more mention of this college you attended, because what you wrote about them here just blows my mind. No interracial dating? As a policy? I don't know what kind of school this was (i.e. sounds like Bob Jones University) but I would stay far, far away from a place like that.

Frankly if this college (or any other kind of institution) receives any kind of public funding I think they could get in trouble for violating various civil rights laws. That is just insane.

I'm sorry you had to endure that.

Being a member of my own minority group I am familiar with the sting of institutionalized bigotry, and it never stops hurting.

The world is so f-ed up that I don't blame you for being angry. When I stop to think about all the blatant but needless injustice in the world I feel pretty damn angry myself.

Posted by Coaster Punchman to This Redeemable Life at September 13, 2007 2:01 PM
Coaster Punchman has left a new comment on your post "My Life As A Homo":

So I'm checking out your archives a bit and this is interesting. It sounds like maybe you haven't had a lot of gay friends. Maybe you should get some, because the more time you spend with them you'll find there's really nothing new or different about the universe they share with you.

Although I'm still very much aware of the struggles we face as gay people, my life to me and everyone I know is very normal. Every now and again I'll encounter someone who has all these questions along the lines of "my God, what is it LIKE?" and I don't know what to say. Sure, I can talk about the pain I suffered as an adolescent and young adult and yada yada yada (and there was plenty of it) but I don't want to think about that stuff 24/7. I live life day to day just like anyone else, and while I feel angry at certain huge injustices, I still go about my life with my friends and loved ones around and I never ever feel like I'm any less normal than anyone else.

Truth be told, unless people have a totally ignorant upbringing or serious psychological issues about sex, most of them don't seem to care what you want to do with your naughty bits because it's a) none of their business and b) generally not very relevant to anything going on around them.

If someone wants to feel I'm a freak, it's totally their problem and I honestly don't care. Really. Of course, I am a freak in many more important ways than whom I choose to have as romantic partners, but we won't go into that.

I have plenty of straight guy friends. If they ever felt any weirdness around me, I'm really not aware of it, nor do I care unless it's something they want to discuss with me at some point. I don't consider myself or feel myself to be any different from them in my daily struggles and joys with life and love. Sometimes I even get the impression they like to share stuff with me that they wouldn't share with their straight guy friends, maybe because they feel less risk of feeling unmanly or something. I don't know. They're just my friends and are just people like me or anybody else.

I hope this makes a little sense....sorry for rambling.
Posted by Coaster Punchman to This Redeemable Life at September 13, 2007 2:22 PM


Coaster Punchman has left a new comment on your post "Please Place Your Trays In The Upright Position .....":

Sexuality is fascinating and certainly complex. I think there are a combination of factors such as genes and the thoughts/sights. However, until we discover what these thoughts/sights are that can cause homosexuality (and I don't think we will) there isn't going to be a "cure" for this "sickness." (ha ha.) Which is why we just need to keep working to get society to get the f*ck over themselves about it. Really, why anyone else would care what two consenting adults want to do with each other is beyond me and always has been.

Think about it. If we weren't all so hung up on this stuff, the men & women with "gay" partners as you describe wouldn't be in the mess they're in, because whatever their sexual issues are would have been resolved long before they ended up married with children. There are LOTS of people who sleep with both genders, and none of it would be a problem if our Judeo-Christian society hadn't decided to make it one.

A lot of us are even tired of the labels, because if we were all absolutely 100% true to ourselves they wouldn't be necessary.

Think about a guy who is totally meat & potatoes, who sees no need for salad & vegetables in his life. He might at one point end up in a situation where there is an absolutely gorgeous vegetarian dish in front of him, and while he would never have thought of choosing that to eat, he came across it and was suddenly just drawn to it. He might eat it, say "well that was actually pretty good!" And then he might resume his meat & potatoes consumption and not even think about that wonderful vegetarian dish until he runs across it again one day. So he's basically still a meat & potatoes guy, but nothing is carved in stone from preventing him to try & enjoy other dishes once in a while. Or who knows, he may even go through a period where he really likes those vegetables and so he decides to be vegetarian for a while. Of course, his true calling will probably resurface because he REALLY loved that meat & potatoes and he misses it a lot after being away from it.

I think for most people, that is what sexuality would be like if we weren't so f-ed up about it in our culture.

Posted by Coaster Punchman to This Redeemable Life at September 13, 2007 2:37 PM

Coaster Punchman has left a new comment on your post "Onward ...":

Wow, I learn more with each post!

First, I'm very sorry for the trauma you experienced as a kid. From the sound of it you've had too much general trauma in your life, and I really wish you peace.

Second, I so heartily applaud you for having the courage to tackle all these issues from racism to sexuality to getting over childhood trauma. You are "one of the good ones" - and I don't mean black people, I mean MEN! Think of how many men go through sh*t and end up just f-ing up their lives in so many ways (drugs, crime, becoming complete abusive a-holes themselves etc.) The route you have chosen says so much about your character, and it is all good.

Third, not knowing you - and even if I did - your sexuality is 100% your own business and no one on earth should encourage you to be one thing or the other. You get to decide what you are and whom you love.

Finally, hereby as a self-proclaimed ambassador of the gay male community, I wish for you that you learn more about what it means to be a gay man in our culture rather than deciding ahead of time that it would just be too terrible to consider. I'm not AT ALL encouraging you to be gay; as I said, I want you to be exactly who you are and nothing else.

However, it sounds like you have certain fears and maybe a few misconceptions or, at the very least, extreme ideas about what our lives are like. Trust me, it's really not so awful! :)

To put this another way, although you acknowledge that being African American in the US has not always been easy, what would you think if one of your white friends said to you "being black would just be too awful for me. I don't think I could do it." Or how about this - if you could choose your race, would have chosen to be white because it would have been easier?

I don't mean to sound judgmental at all here - I'm just trying to present another perspective.

I will respect whatever your answer is, but can I tell you what would make me happiest to hear from you regarding that last question? This is it:

"Listen Mary, I know you think being black is some horrendous cross I've had to bear but you know what? I love my race and my culture and the richness of my people's history, tragic as it is. I wouldn't choose to be any color other than exactly what I am because I think it's beautiful!"

That's pretty much how I feel when people ask if I wouldn't rather be straight.

Sure, I'd be a lot happier if all the f-ing homophobes would go back into their caves & get off my back, but am I going to let these people interfere with my having a happy life? You bet your ass I am not!

I hope this has been some help, or at least mildly interesting if not amusing.
Posted by Coaster Punchman to This Redeemable Life at September 13, 2007 2:54 PM

This will be easier for me to comment if I ... erm ... use the comments section. Heh.


I began to grow ill night before last, while at B&N. I felt it settle into my throat as though I had walked through a cloud of it. But I went to work yesterday morning, performed some necessary assistant director-type functions, then went to B&N last night.

And left early.

I'm not mortally ill, but when I parked my car on the correct side of the street last night, giving me immunity from tickets today if I didn't move it, I knew I would have a blessedly late morning.

So here I am at home, it's Noon, and I'm blowing my nose and blogging. I will soon dress, however, and go to work. Then I will re-dress and go to B&N tonight. Because tomorrow's Friday and because such a thing exists as Dayquil. I'm almost off for two days without guilt. I might as well go in and "get this paper" (translation; "make this money").

Meanwhile, hello to all my new blogger buddies! I'm honored that you're coming 'round to check me out! Mona, you've got amazing tales to tell. Eye-opening, other-culture type tales! I'll be back to read you too, and will be continually thinking good thoughts your way

Again LittleWing, thank you for the recognition. One day I'll blog about how the last few days, apart from the illness, had been a major downer and full of the potential to knock me out for the count until your award came along.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Finally, A Pic I Can Live With

Here I am.

Passengers In The First Car On The Uptown A ...

... tonight between 59th and 207th, I am SO terribly sorry for laughing like a homeless schizophrenic.

But OH. my gosh. I couldn't get home fast enough to blog the following;

Up over the doors and windows inside the subway trains are advertisements. Dr. Zizmor's skin treatments, Barnes & Nobles' sponsored poems, nightschool endorsements, upcoming television shows, etc. Well tonight I was mindlessly staring at one for a language school. Going from left to right there were four headshots of people who could pass for immigrants (little did the models know when they cheesed for the nice photographer).

First guy, big bright smile, could be Romanian, had under him the following caption; "Malawy hg looasoih" (or something like it) and then THAT foreign phrase had a Spanish subtitle-- "Habla en Ingles"

Second is an Asian woman. Another nice smile. Her caption is in Chinese or Japanese or Korean, or an otherwise alien hieroglyph. But the Spanish subtitle was, "Lea en Ingles"

Third is a darker skinned man with a mustache and a third nice smile. His caption says "Ecrivez en anglais" The Spanish subtitle, "Escribe en Ingles"

Fourth is a tannish woman with full lips and completes the quartet of beautific smiles. Her caption says "Pronuncie el Ingles" Her subtitle says "OR GO BACK" in Sharpee magic marker.



In the middle of a crowded train, you hear me? I hollered. I laughed for 148 blocks.

It's not got anything to do with my personal philosophies about immigrants. Yes I get annoyed when my foodservice person makes me repeat myself, or I drive away from McD's with the wrong thing because I was misunderstood, and yes I cuss them out (under my breath, in the safety of my own car). But hey, in the long run, I know we all have to struggle to make it in this country. I say the more the merrier. Come on over and help me take the white man's money. He got too much of it, and power. It's time to break up this good ol' boy network for the last damn time. Let's see how the hell they'll like being called a 'minority' for the next 200 damn years.

Er, hrm.

But I described the poster to you the same way I had read it--sequentially. And up until that last caption the theme was "learn to read and write and eventually speak English" to all the young enterprising non-English speakers reading the sign in their own languages ... just a'going along in my head like an "It's A Small World After All" Disney attraction when --SKEEEK!!!

Sharpee strikes!

Oh my gosh it was just so funny.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

The Default

Grizz, this started as a Comment reply, but how I do go on. So here's a new post.

"Default" does mean being alone. Yet thanks to the internet and friends that I have in person, I'm not really ALONE alone.

and gosh, your analogy is perfect. You got a good sense. This is a marathon.

You know, when I really am running, the music in my headphones keeps me going until I reach my goal. It even gives me energy. My body syncopates to the rythym and I'm golden. In the life-marathon analogy, the music I use equates to all the activities that I mentioned. D&D, audio production, eating good food, real music, NYC ... They're amusements that I need to keep me 'running the race'.

But I can listen to music and not run too. lol. I could listen to music and just ... dance, I suppose. Dance in place.

And why would I stop running? Only, I guess, if I didn't want to go across the finish line anymore. If the prize was no longer worth the struggle of racing.

Here's the real deal. The really real. I don't know what the prize actually is. I don't really know what is happening to you guys when you all get these husbands and wives and children and things. I don't really know. I see from everyone's blogs that there is happiness involved, as well as some pain and some frustration and heartache. I see all that. Aand I have a passion to see people be in successful significant relationships because it looks all so very nice. I can imagine that it is, when it works.

But I don't know what it feels like. I've never had it. And what you never had, you can't miss, right? Heh.

But it's like the concept of Heaven for me. I've never been there, but I sure would like to go. And yet, when religions tell me how to go, and what I have to do in order to qualify for my spot there, sometimes I feel like following the instructions -- and sometimes following the instructions are a royal pain in the ass. And also sometimes, there's a possibility that there isn't really any Heaven at all and I'm wasting time trying to qualify when I should be just enjoying the little bit of life I have left here.

And around and around it goes. Heaven, love, it's all the same thing. I've had glimpses of these things, and like Fox Mulder, I want to believe. And that really is just where I'm at right now.

Wednesday, September 5, 2007


I listen to Escape Pod. It has awesome science fiction stories read by great talented people. I work regularly with one of their voice talents, and another of their voice talents is my Other Hero. The host is Steve Eley who is a husband and a father. And also someone else's lover.

*insert appropriate doubletake here*

He revealed certain details about his multiple relationships during a few of his intros at Escape Pod when one of his voice talents was the woman that he dated, who was different than his wife/the mother of his child.

When he mentioned it, in passing, I wasn't sure what I heard. And he didn't go into detail. But he revisited it recently by issuing the following statement in reference to invites for webgroups that he receives; "If you aren't asking me to work together, or sleep together, or both--don't ask me to join."

I was like, "HuhbuhWHA--?!"

On one of the latest episodes at Escape Pod, he included a link to the website/podcast of his other girl, where I found an episode that he co-hosted, and therefore was much more revealing about his relationshipS.

So to reiterate--he has a wife and a girlfriend. And everybody is on-board with this in his circle. His girlfriend's podcast caters to a culture of people who have more than one relationship and everyone in them are happy as larks with it.

During the episode that I'm referring to, she said "One of my friends--who I'm dating--his wife had an ultrasound..." And then also, while she and he were doing the podcast, his dog, his son, and his wife came onto the back porch where they were recording and said "hi!" And later on, he also said "My other sweetie reads Harry Potter". The man has multiple sweeties.

I am both fascinated and confused.

But what I also want to throw in here is that along with his brief talk at Escape Pod, he said that his relationships have been with women and men. So all these women in his life know that he also had at least one same-sex relationship, and they still do their thing with him.

Just what is going on here?

I'm omitting judgment because all I can wonder now is if it's possible that any potential person in my life could or would be as tolerant of me as Stephen Eley's polyamorous partners are. Because if I can't figure out this sexuality of mine, could I possibly have both? Could I experiment in one season of my life, and then still have a long lasting relationship (ie, wife) with whom to raise a family?

I mean -- is sexuality really that fluid? Are people really that understanding?

Because right now, and I discussed this with my therapist yesterday, I'm seriously considering going back to default. I'm used to The Alone Life, and half of it is already over anyway. All this emotional work I have to do to get to 'normal' is terrifying and exhausting, and really, what harm would I be doing anyone if I just found a nice cool spot to relax in and ride out the rest of my days writing, blogging, making audio, supporting heroes, playing D&D, eating, and working?

I'm serious.

Please, comments completely welcomed.